


Relief

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, SanSan Russian Roulette, Sandor Clegane - Freeform, Sansa Stark - Freeform, prompted, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 02:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: Sansa Stark could not be more ready for her first date with her crush of many years, Sandor Clegane. In fact, she's absolutely sure that nothing is going to ruin it.Except maybe fire ants.





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [l60014](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=l60014).



> I'm going to just call myself out right here, for thinking that I wasn't going to write an almost stupidly long backstory to this and then nearly doing so anyways. Why?
> 
> Anyways, this is for the Sansan prompts ran by l60014 on tumblr! I was given Sansan with a picnic and some fire ants. Please enjoy!

"I just don't understand why Arizona has to be so fucking hot is all," Arya mutters, lying across the bed. The curtains onto their balcony wave gently in the artificially created breeze. Arya has had the air conditioning on full blast practically since they touched down in the city, and despite that, she still complains nonstop.

 

"Stop wearing so much black," Sansa says helpfully, as she folds her clothes neatly. They're only going to be in the city for a few weeks, but Sansa always empties her suitcase upon arrival. It makes it feel more like home.

 

"I'm not wearing that much," Arya protests, picking at her black wool sweater with skulls all over it. Sansa sniffs, but refrains from saying anything else. It is still a mystery to her why Arya even decided to come on this trip. Their father is down here for business, and Sansa had instantly jumped on his offer to take them with. It was first planned to be a family trip, but then Rickon had thrown a fit about missing hockey camp, Bran had come down with mono and was confined to bed, and Catelyn had decided she needed to stay home to care for them. Sansa was alright with that, until Robb, Theon, and Jon all decided they too were going to drop out and go fishing at the cabin up north. Sansa suspected that they would use the opportunity to throw the biggest party ever. But that means she is here with just Arya, who seems to not be able to stop complaining.

 

"What should we do today?" Sansa asks, trying to make plans with her sister. "I've heard that the pool is an infinity one."

 

"I am not coming with to take stupid pictures of you for Instagram," Arya declares, without opening her eyes. Sansa scowls, and shoves her shorts into the drawer with more force than necessary.

 

"Well fine. I'm going to go down there anyways. Do you want to come or not?" She demands, putting her hands on her hips.

 

"Will you buy me drinks at the bar?" Arya asks, opening her eyes hopefully.

 

"Absolutely not. You're underage," Sansa says flatly. At 19, her sister seems intent on circumventing every single rule possible.

 

"The boys do," Arya challenges her and Sansa shrugs.

 

"They can face mom's wrath then. You make stupid decisions enough as is sober," Sansa states and then tosses her hair over her shoulder, snatching up her swimsuit and prancing into the bathroom where she lock herself away from Arya's wrath. By the time she's put her suit on, carefully fishtailed her hair, and chosen the cute cat eye sunglasses she loves so much, Arya's huffing and pouting has ended, and the slamming door signals Sansa's safe path. She throws on a cover-up, then snatches up her phone.

 

_Going to the pool! Let me know when dad wants us back for dinner._

 

Jory, who is her father's right hand man and de facto keeper, is more reachable than her father, so Sansa sends the text to him and then grabs her headphones, a trashy romance novel, and plenty of sunscreen. She grabs the room key and then walks for the elevator, popping the earbuds in. She has a new playlist to listen to, and plenty of sunshine to catch. Canada is still determinedly cold, and all Sansa wants is the warmth seeping through her skin. When she lets herself into the pool, spreads a towel over a chair, and lays down, she lets herself release a sigh of happiness. This is bliss.

 

Her bliss is shattered not more than a moment later, when shade falls across her face. She frowns, looking up, and finds her heart sinking when she realizes it's Joffrey who stands before her. Ned had promised both she and Arya that the oldest of his business partner sons' would be off, still at school. Sansa has disliked the brash American boy ever since she grew out of her childish crush, but for now she plasters the sweetest smile she can on her face.

 

"Sansa Stark," Joffrey drawls, nearly spilling his whiskey on her. Sansa cringes at his entire bearing, with several gold chains, an unbuttoned polo that showcases his growing beer gut, and Chubbies in a gaudy red and gold lion print. "What a treat. I didn't know your father was going to be bringing you along."

 

"Well, classes are out for the summer," she says helpfully, looking around to see if any of his posse are with him. No one is there to distract him, and she wants to groan.

 

"Staying down south are you?" He asks, his blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses. If Sansa had to guess, they would be glazed over.

 

"No," she tells him thankfully, glad that she has no reason to give him false hope. "Just a few weeks."

 

"That's enough time," he says, waggling his eyebrows and all Sansa can do is hope to the high heavens that he gets distracted by something else and leaves her alone. "You know, we could do dinner or something. I can get us into any of the clubs, and--"

 

"Joffrey," a deep voice rumbles behind them and Sansa's whole body relaxes. It's Sandor Clegane, Joffrey's bodyguard and pseudo nanny. "Don't you have an appointment right about now?"

 

"Do I?" Joffrey pretends to be surprised. "Oh, it must be the Tokyo call. Those Asians bastards are just desperate for my money and advice. Shouldn't keep them waiting."

 

"Bye," Sansa says softly, as he stumbles off in the direction of the door. Then she glances up at Sandor, who's face remains as impassive as ever. "Do you think he knows it's 5 am in Tokyo?"

 

"No, and that meeting is actually with the doctor to see if they can cure his STDs," Sandor states flatly. Sansa cringes.

 

"Really?"

 

"Probably," Sandor glances down at her with a small smile and Sansa can't help but grin back. She's known Sandor since she was young, and he has always been there to keep Joffrey in line, or to prevent Arya from doing something stupid. He's a good man, and Sansa has often wondered what the hell he's doing minding Joffrey. No doubt he's paid well.

 

"Thanks for getting him off my back," Sansa tells him. "I just wanted some time relaxing by the pool to myself. I had to sit next to Arya on the flight and I'm sure you can guess how well that went."

 

"I bet wonderfully," he responds, with a hint of amusement making his grey eyes light up. "Where'd she get off to then?"

 

"Not sure," Sansa replies breezily. "I'm sure whatever she breaks she'll just charge to our father's room."

 

"I'll keep an eye open," Sandor says dryly, before dipping his head. "I'll leave you be then."

 

"Thank you," Sansa calls after him and means it. His large frame disappears around the gate that encloses the pool, and she's left alone, suddenly feeling a little sad for that fact. She opens her book, starting the playlist she'd paused, but her eyes can't seem to focus on the words on the page. She's thinking about Sandor, and Joffrey, and the fact that perhaps young Sansa had it backwards with her devotion to the golden haired boy and her fear for the tall, scarred man. By the time she has to slide into the water to cool off, Sansa has practically talked herself into having a crush on the man she's known for so long.

 

She tries to justify it as she slathers on more sunscreen. Sandor is handsome, if not in the conventional way. The scar is big, sure, but he wears his black hair long enough that it nearly hides it. And he has pretty eyes, especially when he looks at her when everyone else is being stupid, and he has a tiny smile that can only be described as mischievous. And she knows, from the times that he's had to pull Joffrey off of someone, that he's fit and strong. And beyond all of that, Sansa feels safe with him. Truly safe. He's a good man. He's brave, and gentle, and strong. He's a good man.

 

When her phone vibrates with a text from Jory warning her that Arya has already pissed off security and that Ned Stark demands they both be on their best behavior for the dinner tonight, Sansa forgets momentarily about the fact that she may be deep into a crush on Sandor and rolls her eyes. They haven't even been here for more than a couple hours and her sister is already in trouble. It just seems so perfectly Arya.

 

She showers, sighing in contentment where she sees that her pale skin is already beginning to brown. She just wants to go home with a bronzed kiss. She washes her hair, deciding to do a blowout for tonight and pair it with a flowing dress and heels. She always prides herself on looking good and being an asset to her father, and someone has to offset Arya's dishevelment. She swipes on light makeup since she'll just sweat it off anyways before stepping into their room at the sound of someone exploding a small bomb. It’s only Arya, slamming drawers and throwing thing haphazardly out of her suitcase. Sansa folds her arms.

 

"Where are my combat boots?" Arya demands without looking up at her.

 

"What did you do to make security so mad?" Sansa counters.

 

"I know I packed them, I fucking swear I packed them--"

 

"Seriously Arya, we're staying here for a week. And it's important that we don't mess anything up with the business side of things, it's important that we--"

 

"I swear if Rickon took them out of my bag, I will--"

 

"Why are you even looking for them? You can't wear them tonight, it's not proper. You need to--"

 

"Would you stop mothering me for one fucking minute and just help me find my goddamn shoes?" Arya rounds on her in a fury. Sansa huffs, but opens the smaller suitcase that's half under the bed and pulls out Arya's boot with an eye roll.

 

"Happy?"

 

"Yeah, thanks," Arya snarls, grabbing them. "And I'm wearing these tonight. It's just some stupid dinner with people. Why do we even have to go?"

 

"Because it's with investors and it's polite," Sansa reminds her, for the hundredth time.

 

"It's stupid and pompous. And I bet you my skirt that asshole Joffrey and stupid Tommen and vapid Myrcella will be there," Arya grumbles fiercely.

 

"I saw Joffrey by the pool today," Sansa remembers, before her checks flame when she remembers what came after. "He, and uh, Sandor."

 

"Did he say anything to you?" Arya's head pops up from where she's digging in her suitcase. There's one thing that they agree on and that is a mutual hatred of Joffrey. Once, when he'd drunkenly groped Sansa on a trip to Turks and Caicos', Arya had cut holes in the rear of all his swim trunks.

 

"No, Sandor made him leave," Sansa explains, flushing.

 

"Good. Glad the brute is good for something," Arya remarks, but Sansa knows the deep affection there. Both her sister and Sandor pretend to dislike each other on principle, but Sansa knows that Sandor is as protective of Arya as he is Sansa.

 

"We should get ready to go, Dad will send a driver soon," Sansa states, to change the subject. "And just like, play nice for five minutes."

 

"I will if everyone else does," Arya promises darkly and Sansa sighs.

 

"And wear a dress!" She orders, as she goes to get her purse. She hears the mocking noise Arya makes behind her but ignores it. She has a whole evening in front of her, and she's going to have to choose her battles.

 

By the time they're heading out of the hotel and into the waiting car, Sansa's heels click in time with Arya's vans as they cross the marbled expanse of the lobby. Sansa keeps shooting Arya looks, annoyed that her sister has chosen a ratty tee-shirt dress as a way to circumvent Catelyn's strict rules about dresses to business events. Sansa wants to put up a bigger fight, but she's not her mother and it's not worth it. She, at least, looks immaculate. Hopefully Arya won't mouth off, and everything will go smoothly. Sansa tosses her hair over her shoulder, smiling at Mikken, their father's driver.

 

"You ladies look nice," he offers, opening the door for them.

 

"You mean Sansa looks nice. I haven't washed my hair in a week," Arya informs him, sliding into the car. Sansa, behind her, sighs and givens Mikken a longsuffering look.

 

"You do look nice," he tells her, with an amused smile.

 

"Yeah, until I have her blood on my dress," Sansa mutters and Mikken laughs when he shuts the door behind her. On the drive to the restaurant, they bicker over nothing at all, more out of habit than any real desire to fight. They both stop when faced with their father, waiting for them at the door of the restaurant. He raises an eyebrow at Arya's outfit but simply holds the door for her, turning to Sansa once Arya is through.

 

"I see you have as much control over her outfits as your mother," Ned remarks and Sansa raises an eyebrow as she strides past him.

 

"I'd like to see you do better."

 

"Alright," he chuckles, shutting the door behind her. "You look wonderful dear."

 

"Thanks," Sansa flashes a smile, before spotting the opening to the small private room where they'll eat with her father's business partners. Her whole body flushes when she spots Sandor, who is glaring down at a smirking Arya. She freezes, startled. She hadn’t known he'd be here. Of course, it makes sense. He usually is where Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen are, as well as Robert and Cersei. Since they're all eating together, of course he's here.

 

"Leave Clegane alone, Arya," Ned calls, and both Arya and Sandor look up. Arya is protesting her innocence in a flash, but Sandor is silent, eyes lingering on Sansa's form.

 

"Hi," Sansa says breathlessly when she remembers herself. Sandor gives her a stiff little nod, moving aside so that she can brush past him. She does, just a few steps, before turning back around and giving him what she hopes is her brightest smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't properly thank you earlier for scaring off Joffrey. It was so nice to just have a few moments to myself. I'm so rested."

 

"You look lovely," he mutters, under his breath and Sansa grins like a giddy school girl. "I hope you enjoyed your day."

 

"I did, thank you. Will you be joining us for dinner?" Sansa asks politely and he glances at her like he's confused by the question before answering,

 

"Yes, though Joffrey will not be."

 

"I hope you take his spot then," Sansa informs him, boldly, and his eyebrows fly up. Before she has a chance to say anything else, boisterous Robert enters the room, trailed by his wife and children, and the opportunity passes.

 

They are at the premier hibachi restaurant in the city, one of Robert's favorite for its seemingly bottomless limit of food, and the seats around the grill are arranged neatly. Sansa hangs back strategically, pretending to be engrossed in her phone while she watches with a critical eye as everyone begins to sit down. Arya purposefully sits as far as she can away from Tommen and Myrcella as possible, in the corner. Sandor is nearby, away from the businessmen who are glad handing each other. Trying to be sly, Sansa slips in next to him.

 

"What, don't want to be up by dad?" Arya mocks, flicking a bit of rice at Sansa as waiters swarm to take drink orders.

 

"Someone has to keep you in line," she responds airily, turning to Sandor with her purse in hand. "Do you mind watching this for me? I always forget it."

 

"Of course not," Sandor rumbles and when Sansa leans forward to put her purse down, she brushes his leg just to see if he reacts. When she rises he's stone-faced, but Arya has a look of skepticism. Sansa ignores her, calmly ordering a drink from the nervous teenage boy.

 

Throughout the meal, complete with the chef grudgingly dealing with Robert's repeated requests for childish tricks, Sansa makes small talk with Sandor, eagerly prodding information out of him when possible, between mouthfuls of sushi and more. It takes effort, but eventually he falls into an easy sort of conversation with her, relaxed enough to even crack a smile here and there. The chatter from everyone around them fades, until it's just the two of them, chatting and laughing. Sansa has never felt so content.

 

By the time dessert is served, Sansa is tipsy off a few glasses of wine and a shot of Saki, and her long fingers with their immaculate manicure drape over Sandor's wrist. She is telling him, perhaps a little too loudly, that she feels like she never gets into nature anymore, and that she spends all her time confined inside. Sandor is listening intently, until Arya opens her mouth and snarks,

 

"Why doesn't Sandor take you on a damn picnic then?"

 

"Oh, yes!" Sansa gasps in delight. Arya appears caught off guard, blinking in confusion that Sansa has agreed. Sandor looks to be similarly confused, gaze swinging between the two sisters. "That would be so much fun! Sandor, would you want to? I would love that!"

 

"I, uh, I would -- if you -- perhaps?" Sandor seems flustered, a date forced upon him by a joking Arya and taken up by a tipsy Sansa. Everyone around the table is distracted by Robert's demand for dessert, no one notices that Sansa beams and throws her arms around Sandor's neck.

 

"This will be so much fun!"

 

That night, as she and Arya ride back to the hotel with their father, Sansa can feel Arya's eyes on her but chooses to ignore it, humming happily and watching the lights stream by in the night sky. Ned kisses them both goodnight in the lobby, off to do more work, and when they get in the elevator, Arya punches the button for their floor behind rounding on her, arms crossed. Sansa smiles at her, as sweetly as she can, and Arya's eyebrows furrow.

 

"Are you drunker than I think you are? Or did Joffrey slip a long acting drug in your drink by the pool this afternoon and forget to collect?" She demands sharply. Sansa rolls her eyes, leaning against the walls for support as they jerk skyward.

 

"Why are you being mean?"

 

"Because it is a little strange to me that my big sister, who once declined a date with a guy because he had too many moles on his back, is willingly going on a date with Sandor Clegane," Arya states flatly and Sansa rolls her eyes.

 

"I told that guy no because he was a giant ass, and creepy to boot. I like Sandor!"

 

"No you don't," Arya says, a little too hastily. Panic is starting to show in her grey eyes. "It's Sandor! C'mon, we've known him forever. He's old. He's mean. He's a cranky bastard, remember?"

 

"No he's not," Sansa protests. "Joffrey just makes him that way. If you had to deal with Joffrey all the time, I bet you would be hostile too."

 

"Who are you and what have you done to my sister?" Arya bemoans, as the doors open to the penthouse suite. "This is actually insane, you going on a date with him."

 

"It's a picnic," Sansa waves her hand, tossing her purse absentmindedly onto the couch and wandering towards the bathroom. "What's the worst that can happen?"

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, she is empathetically reminded of why she does not drink. Her head is pounding, and her mouth is stuffed with cotton. She is surprised but delighted to note that Arya has, rather sweetly, left her a water bottle beside the bed. She's just finishing it off when the room's phone rings, startling her and cause a fresh wave of bright white pain to radiate through her head. Wincing, she reaches for it, hoarsely answering with a muted, "Hello?"

 

"Sansa?" Sandor's concerned voice comes through the phone instantly. "You alright?"

 

"Fine," she answers, while desperately wishing that a bucket was within snatching distance. Her hangover, her butterflies from Sandor, and her nerves at the idea of them actually going for a picnic today has converged into one moment seemingly designed to push her over the edge. "I'm just fine, how are you?"

 

"I'm alright," he rumbles, and Sansa can't help but smile slightly. His deep voice seems to warm her, all the way down to her toes. Has it always been so? "I wanted to see if you were coherent last night."

 

"I was, and in complete control of my functions," Sansa promises. "I meant that a picnic does sound lovely. And it keeps me away from Arya."

 

"I'm sure your father will thank you," Sandor remarks dryly before a long pause. "Does that mean you do want to go?"

 

"Yes please," Sansa answers without hesitation. "I don't have any plans for today."

 

"Today?" It sounds like Sandor has poorly swallowed something. "I-- err-- yeah. Today. Sounds good."

 

"Alright, when should I be ready by?" Sansa asks, wondering if she can, indeed, vomit in the shower.

 

"I'll, uh, see you around noon?" He suggests, still doubtful, and Sansa smiles.

 

"Perfect. I'll see you then."

 

"Alright," he hangs up and Sansa promptly rolls off the bed in a mad dash for the bathroom.

 

"You gonna make this date that's not a date?" Arya asks, arms folded, from the doorway. Sansa is leaning over the sink, makeup and hair half done, now resisting the urge to vomit.

 

"Yes," she says firmly, reaching for her straightener again.

 

"I can't believe this, but I guess if you're set on it," Arya sighs, before tossing Sansa a small bottle of Pedialyte. Sansa catches it before giving her sister a surprised and appreciative look. "Try not to hurl on him."

 

"Thank you?" Sansa replies, a little bewildered, before Arya disappears. She opens the bottle and takes a small pull, making a face at the strange taste before downing the rest of it. When she finishes it, she's nearly ready. She just has to choose her outfit. She stands in front of her unpacked closet, worriedly fiddling with her rings. If she had known before this trip that she was going to need to prepare for a date, she would've changed her choices considerably. As is, none of her dresses are acceptable for a picnic in the hot Arizona sun, and there's no time to send someone to get something new. The idea of Arya picking out her clothes is laughable.

 

She settles on structured shorts with a bright pattern, and a light white top to hopefully keep her slightly cool in the day's heat. She stops at the door to remove a few pieces of jewelry, a habit taught to her by her mother, before walking into the living room to find her purse. Arya is sprawled over the couch, watching TV and eating wings. She grins when Sansa brushes her hair back and strikes a pose.

 

"You don't look like death as much anymore."

 

"Thank you," Sansa rolls her eyes, grabbing her purse and making sure she has everything in it. "It means so much to me to hear you say that."

 

"Hey, just checking," Arya starts carefully, looking down at her food instead of Sansa. "I want to make sure that this is your idea, right?"

 

"What is?" Sansa asks, distractedly trying to find a key to get back into the room.

 

"This date with Sandor. It just seems a little weird for you is all," Arya says cautiously and Sansa glances over her shoulder.

 

"Is that your way of telling me I'm vapid and shallow and can't like him because he's not a hot popstar?" She asks acidly and Arya's response is a shrug.

 

"I mean, a year or two ago, sure. You have to admit, you were. But you're better now, honestly. I just want to make sure it's not some weird thing you're going to dread," she answers cautiously.

 

"Guess we're just going to have to see," Sansa breezes past her, debating if she should tell Arya about her newfound crush. She and her sister aren't close, and Arya never seems to understand her. She hesitates at the door, about to turn around and spill everything, before Arya belches loudly. Sansa sighs and opens the door. "Try to behave while I'm out!"

 

She strides through the lobby, pulling sunglasses from her purse. She makes it to the door, before stopping short. There, just outside, is a motorcycle and a vaguely uncomfortable looking Sandor Clegane, reclining on it, waiting. She blinks, wondering if he's always had one and she'd been too oblivious to notice it as a child, or if it is something he hides away. It makes her think that there is so much about him she doesn't know, and she smiles as she walks out into the sweltering heat. He looks up, something like a smile tugging up his lips before it fades and his stern face remains.

 

"Hi," he greets her.

 

"Hello," Sansa responds, swinging her purse onto her shoulder. "I didn't know you had a bike."

 

"This?" Sandor glances down at it like he's surprised it exists. "Yeah, had it awhile."

 

"I had no idea," Sansa remarks and Sandor watches her carefully, like he's expecting something from her.

 

"You never asked."

 

"Well, I'm going to now, so you better prepare yourself for all the questions," she promises, and that does prompt a smile. After a second, he seems to remember himself and he offers his hand, helping her onto the bike. A bit of a thrill runs through her when she wraps her arms around his firm stomach, and the noise of the engine revving fills her ears. For the first heartbeat when Sandor eases them back into traffic, Sansa worries that they'll tip. Then she realizes that Sandor is firmly in control and grins, wondering when the last time she had this much fun.

 

He takes them out of the city by weaving through the traffic, cutting down side streets and back alleys. Sansa just watches it all, enjoying the fact that the sun is warming her through every exposed inch of her skin. By the time Sandor turns them down a dirt path, she's hot but not unpleasantly so. It feels good, like all the alcohol her body absorbed last night is now leeching out into the air. She wonders, wryly, if Sandor can smell it.

 

"Well, here we are," he announces when they stop. It’s a meadow, hunkered between a pond and a grove of trees, lush and green. Sansa supposes someone maintains it as she swings her leg off the bike and claps her hands.

 

"It's beautiful," she says, and means it. Sandor grunts something intelligible as he retrieves a picnic basket from the bike, as well as a blanket. Sansa wanders down to the water, looking at the pebbled beach and the clear, calm water. When she turned back around, he's spread a blanket wide and has out sandwiches, chips, and some fruit. Sansa grins and comes back. Sandor also has two big bottles of water, and he hands her one when she gets close enough.

 

"How's your head?" He asks her knowingly and Sansa takes a low drink before grinning at him.

 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she promises and he chuckles as he sits down. "This looks lovely, by the way."

 

"It's no five star restaurant," he mutters, and Sansa pops some watermelon into her mouth. Sandor watches her carefully, before she licks her fingers clean and turns her face up to the sun.

 

"No, it's even better."

 

While they eat, they talk. Sansa is surprised to realize how little she knows about him; that he's well-traveled, that he hails from the west, amongst the mountains and forests of Washington. She realizes that he's quiet not because he has few thoughts, but instead because he has many. He admits that he stays with Joffrey and the other kids because he is paid handsomely to do so little, and he admits that it frees him up to do whatever he'd like. Sansa listens, enraptured, as he details his most recent trip to Venice, and the fact that he likes art. He shyly reveals to her that his mother painted, and he has always thought that one day he might try his hand.

 

Sansa finds herself spilling all her secrets to him. Her fear that she disappears in her massive family. That all her siblings seem to have talents and predestined paths, but she's left drifting at school, trying to find a passion that grips her. That sometimes she would rather disappear into books and music when the outside world seems a little too terrible. That she dreams about doing something completely different, something remarkable, something all her own that doesn't have her father's last name tied to it.

 

And then she yelps when pain radiates up her leg. She swats at it, but a second later, she finds herself in Sandor's arms, and he's charging for the lake. She wants to protest or at least question what on earth he is doing, but then he plunges into the water with her, and she has time to draw one last breath before everything around her spins and Sandor dunks her into the water. 

 

The cold of the water drives any words from Sansa's mouth. She can't say or do anything except frantically kick for the surface, stunned. She'd thought the date was going well, but this is something else entirely. She breaks the surface, gasping.

 

Sandor is saying something to her, urgently, but Sansa can't quite hear him. It looks like he's ordering her to do something, but his hands are tugging on her shirt and she's so startled all she can do is splutter, "What?"

 

"Off!" Sandor repeats, giving an even more ferocious tug. "Off, take it off!"

 

"What?" Sansa lets him pull the shirt off, treading water. She is so startled that is doesn’t register that Sandor Clegane is taking her clothes off in the water, and all she can do is comply. She starts yanking off her shorts under the surface.

 

"Fire ants," Sandor is explaining, as he pulls his shirt over his head. The water isn't terribly deep, and it's refreshing after the initial jolt. Sansa shimmies out of her shorts and holds them tightly. "We must've gotten into some, and the water helps and-- what are you doing?" He looks at her in alarm, as her shorts float atop the water.

 

"You said off," she reminds him innocently, and something akin to panic flashes in his eyes. "I assumed you meant it all off."

 

"I…" He trails off, before seeming to notice that Sansa's eyes have traveled down to the hard planes of his shoulders and chest. His unscarred cheek blushes, and he especially averts his eyes when he sees that her wet bralette sticks tightly to her skin. "It helps to wash the bites off right away."

 

"We do not have those in Canada," Sansa informs him, looping her shorts onto her arm so she can start paddling towards shore. After a moment, Sandor does the same. When they reach the shore, Sansa stands, shivering slightly as rivulets of water drop from her hair. Sandor looks at her in concern, standing knee deep in the water, and Sansa suddenly bursts into laughter. Sandor stares at her, baffled, but Sansa can't stop, doubling over in amusement.

 

It seems so ridiculous. Their first date, and this is where they end up. Soaking wet, covered in bites from vicious ants, in the midst of the baking Arizona sun. Of all the ways for this date to arrive here, this seems the most insane. Sansa laughs, and laughs some more, and then has to reach for Sandor's shoulder to support herself. He does so, still looking at her as though he expects her to be insane. When Sansa sees the look at his face, her laughter comes back, renewed.

 

"What the fuck?" He asks, finally, when she can't seem to get herself under control.

 

"I'm sorry," she gasps, dropping her forehead to his chest. "It's just, what the hell? What the hell should we do now?"

 

"I don't know," a small smile has crossed Sandor's face, and he gently places one finger below her chin, tilting her head back so he can get a better look at her. Sansa's heart stops, but then she's the one who presses forward and crashes their lips together. Sandor responds with gusto, and a moment later Sansa finds herself with her legs wrapped around his waist and her whole body flaming, despite the cool water. He gives a nervous little chuckle when they separate, and Sansa blinks a couple times, trying to get her bearings back.

 

"Wow," she mutters, her pulse beating wildly in her throat. "Just…. Wow."

 

"No fire ants in Canada, huh?" Sandor puts her back down on her feet, pushing back strand of her wet hair. "Might be a nice place to live then."

**Author's Note:**

> Short, sweet, and somewhat to the point? Maybe? I hope you all like it, please leave a review! Thanks friends!


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